


Fan, Rope, Tree

by ObsidianJade



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Abuse of colloquial expressions, Crack, Gen, M/M, absurdity, this makes no sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianJade/pseuds/ObsidianJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve and Tony’s failure to communicate creates an elephant in the room big enough to take up space even in Stark Tower.  Tony, naturally, is the elephant’s ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fan, Rope, Tree

**Author's Note:**

> The expression ‘the elephant in the room’ is a phrase used to describe an obvious truth that is being overlooked, often deliberately (although in this case it’s entirely by accident). 
> 
> Story title comes from the story-poem of [The Blind Men and the Elephant](http://www.constitution.org/col/blind_men.htm). 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are property of Marvel. I’m just playing with them because my Muse is bloody insane and throwing metaphorical elephants at my head during my lunch breaks. 
> 
> ________________________________ 
> 
> WARNINGS: THIS MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE. 
> 
> Really. Absolutely none whatsoever. I really do not remember what was going through my head when I was writing it - other than, obviously, elephants - but I have the feeling I was either very sleep deprived or high on cold medication. Possibly both. Because for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to _write this nonsense down._
> 
> And today, I’m debatably more out of my mind, because I’m home sick with a miserably persistent chest cold, feeling unwarrantedly sorry for myself, and figuring that *someone* may as well get a laugh out of this. Hopefully the laugh will be derived from the content of the story and not the story itself, but, eh. There’s not much I can do with this one.
> 
> Content Notes: Excessive crack and nonsense. Use of the word ass. Captain America is very confused, and Coulson is a sadist. Sort of. Also unbeta'd because I was not going to inflict this on Iris, I damage her sanity enough as it is. So I'm inflicting it on all of you instead, aren't I lovely? ^_^

FAN, ROPE, TREE

 

__________________________________________

It was not by any means unusual to hear voices coming from the communal kitchen of the Avengers Tower.

It served as a war room, a family meeting place, a classroom, and the general hub of their lives. With the team including metabolisms like Cap’s and Thor’s, it could hardly be anything else. 

That was why Steve didn’t find the drifting sound of voices odd as he approached the kitchen. Even as he’d stepped off the elevator, he’d heard Clint’s familiar laugh and the scrape of Coulson’s favorite mug on the table, caught the faint whiff of Natasha’s shampoo under the scents of cardamom and turmeric from Bruce’s cooking. Only Tony and Thor were absent; Tony was away on business, due back later that afternoon, and Thor was out in the city with Jane, having pried her from her calculations for a few hours respite. 

When he finally began to pay attention to the words being said, though, Steve realized that the conversation was a little... odd.

“Really,” Bruce said, exasperation tinging his words, “someone needs to address the elephant. It’s getting painful to watch.”

“You think so?” That was Coulson. “I’m in favor of keeping it as-is. It’s proving quite entertaining.”

“You would think that,” Clint muttered, sounding vaguely petulant. “You haven’t been the one cleaning up after it. And I shoveled literal elephant shit in the circus, so let me tell you, metaphorical elephant shit is a whole ‘nother - hi, Steve!”

“Um,” Steve managed eloquently, stepping into the kitchen. Natasha saluted him with her fork, not breaking the rhythm of her eating. Bruce fidgeted with his glasses as he stirred the remaining food in the pan. Coulson kept his attention on his own bowl, a faint blush riding high on his cheekbones. Clint was the only one in the room to meet Steve’s eyes, and his smile was frightening.

“I’m missing something,” Steve said aloud as he retrieved a bowl from the cabinet, passing it to Bruce to fill.

Coulson had on his politely pained smile, the one he wore when someone on the team was being about as sharp as the flat side of a brick. “Yes, you are.” 

When Steve blinked at him in surprise, Clint snickered and inhaled a few more mouthfuls of his own lunch. “He’s not gonna tell you,” the archer grinned. “He’s a sadist. He enjoys watching people suffer in confusion.”

“Barton, please stop trying to embarrass me in front of my childhood hero.”

“Why? Is it working?”

Coulson didn’t blink, his smile didn’t shift a bit, but even so, the sudden aura of threat was palpable. 

“Jeez, I know, I know. Siberia. Turn off the fucking vibes, Phil.”

The statement made no sense whatsoever to Steve, but Coulson flashed a smile that was more than half grimace across the table at Clint, and the threatening aura vanished as abruptly as they’d started. 

Steve shot a helplessly bewildered look look across the table at Natasha, who swallowed the last of her rice, leaned over, and patted Steve’s arm. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said simply, before setting her bowl in the sink and walking out. 

“I have absolutely no idea what’s going on here,” Steve said plaintively, but applied himself to his lunch all the same. 

“It’s an ongoing debate about the willful blindness of human nature, and the constant inability of people to see what they don’t wish or expect to be there,” Bruce answered, setting his own bowl on the table and taking the seat Natasha had just vacated. 

“Like aliens?”

“The current debate is more of the personal-problem nature,” Coulson answered, his tone as measured as ever. At some point in the last half-minute, he’d pulled a tablet computer out of what might just have been thin air, and was determinedly working at something on the screen with his left hand while he ate with his right. “In general, people’s refusal to acknowledge, admit, or realize the depth or potential of their interpersonal relationships.” 

“I’ve known folks like that,” Steve sighed, and blinked when Clint erupted into high-pitched giggles, which were quickly squelched when Coulson unsubtly kicked the archer in the shin beneath the table. 

“You were saying, Captain?” Coulson inquired, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, even as Clint hissed curses at the agent in German.

“Um...” Steve blinked a few times, trying to reorganize his brain, and shook his head slightly. “Bucky’s the first one it brings to mind, quite honestly.”

“How so?”

  “Kept setting us up on all these double dates before the War... he never really did grasp that I’d rather it were just the two of us.”

The disbelieving silence that fell over the kitchen after that statement was so heavy that Steve swore he could feel it pressing down on his skull, bowing his head towards the table. He’d never made that admission, not to anybody - it wouldn’t have been safe, back in his own day, but the attitude was so different nowadays, he’d honestly figured it would be all right...

Clint was the first to recover the use of his tongue. “So, you and Barnes -”

“We weren’t,” Steve mumbled, because they hadn’t been. “Not my choice, though.” He risked a glance upward, gauging Coulson’s expression, and was startled to see that the man looked positively transported with joy, his usually expressionless face beaming.

Clint, on the other hand, simply looked flummoxed. “I’m not sure if that makes the elephant bigger or smaller, really.”

Steve grimaced as the last few minutes of conversation finally parsed themselves out with some sense. “It’s my elephant, isn’t it?”

“If we answer that,” Coulson answered, his voice as level as ever despite the smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, “it kind of gives the game away.”

“Only half of the game,” Clint countered, and shoved his chair back in time to avoid another kick to the shins. 

“Yes,” Bruce interjected, “but we can’t have just half of an elephant hanging around the room.”

There was a long pause as everyone tried, unsuccessfully, not to envision the concept, and Clint began snickering. “Disembodied elephant’s ass, that’s just what the decor needs in this place -”

There was a short mechanical buzz from above them, JARVIS’s equivalent of clearing his throat before he spoke. “I have been asked to inform you that the elephant’s ass in question has been able to move his return trip forward, and will be arriving back at the Tower in six minutes. Perhaps you would like to inform him of his change in designation upon his arrival?”

Clint dissolved into laughter; Coulson merely rolled his eyes ceilingward. “You don’t play the game by giving away the details, JARVIS,” the agent scolded mildly. “Now we’re going to have to deal with a half-dissolved metaphorical elephant on top of everything else.”

“My apologies, sir,” JARVIS replied, sounding as genuinely amused as an artificially intelligent computer system could. Which was quite. “I thought perhaps Captain Rogers would appreciate being informed that he had been given a trunk.”

Apparently all the brains he didn’t have otherwise were in that trunk, because it was that precise moment that everything clicked for Steve. “Tony - he - me??”

Clint sighed moodily, scooping up another forkful of rice. “So much for our entertainment.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much,” Coulson replied, his fingers dancing over the screen of his tablet. “There’s always more elephants like that one.”

“Mister Stark is currently inbound,” JARVIS reported, and Steve pushed back from the table, leaving his half-eaten lunch behind. 

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” he grinned, bouncing on his toes as he made his way out of the room, destined for the landing pad, “I’ve got to go see a man about an elephant.”


End file.
